Theft
by xxfatal
Summary: Yuffentine. She's not good at stealing hearts. He's not good at keeping them. A collection. Part 22: In which Vincent debates the merits of answering his door, especially when she's the one knocking.
1. The Tether

**Theft**

**The Tether**

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He thinks it's a little charming that she would go out of her way to rescue him on a hover-craft, despite the persisting fact that she is indisputably motion sick. She lurches forward, gagging noise rising from her throat over the sound of the explosion. Her pallid cheek finds some semblance of comfort on the corporeal surface of the hover-craft.

His mind drifts; he tries rationalizing what he had witnessed before the outbreak of pandemonium. His jaw tightens at the implications.

A single sentence tethers him back. "The things I do for you, Vincent Valentine," Yuffie musters feebly, voice nearly lost in the rumble. The meaning, however, is not lost on him.

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**A/N:** Had a spell where I was completely, utterly enamored with Yuffentine. The aftermath left me with lots of unfinished scraps of pieces. I will be posting unrelated installments sporadically. Thank you for reading! And apologies for the brevity of this and future works. Hope you enjoyed.


	2. The Extrapolator

**Theft **

**The Extrapolator**

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He's staring very intently into her eyes. More intently than usual.

_This_, Yuffie deduces, _must be a sign!_ She compliantly slides her eyelids shut, and puckers her lips imperceptibly. She's even more expectant now that she's made it so easy for him.

Seconds pass.

Long, long, uneventful seconds pass.

Her left eye creaks open. His expression has remained, revoltingly, the same. The only difference is that instead of regarding her eyes with what she now realizes looks possibly closer to indifference than intent, he has transferred that regard to her unusual lip formation. She opens both eyes and stops the silly pucker. Great, now she has just gone and made of a fool of herself. _I guess that's not how kissing works._

Finally, he deigns to speak. "Yuffie, what were you doing?"

The words hit her like a brick wall going at warp speed. The side of her mouth twitches. There's no way in hell she's going to tell him. "I was just testing you!" she blusters carelessly, swiveling abruptly on her heel. "Anyway, can't be playing games now! I've got some missions to get done! See ya, Vince!" She shoves upon him a mighty grin, and she sprints off with a little bounce.

The disappointed frown plants itself back into place the second she's out of the vicinity.

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**A/N:** _Who's_ disappointed frown? I really, honestly adore Yuffie. Thank you for the reviews! I love receiving them.


	3. The Share

**Theft**

**The Share**

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"You know, Zack was a fun guy," she states, rather out of nowhere. She proceeds to study his reaction.

There is none.

The corner of her eyebrow knits. "We went treasure-hunting when I was younger," she elaborates.

He merely blinks, and waits patiently for her to finish.

She sticks a hand into her back pocket, and retrieves a sheet of paper. "I've written down the locations of some choice steals—oops, I mean treasure, of course," she continues. "I was thinking, maybe you and I could go look for them together. I'll split the rewards with you—eighty-twenty." She ruminates on this proposition for a moment. "Actually, no, you're not really going to need the rewards, anyhow. How about ninety-ten? Sound fair?"

It sounds ridiculously unfair.

His golden silence taken as an agreement, she slaps the well-loved scrap of paper onto the bar counter, smoothing it out. "Alright! So, first, we'll head to Icicle Inn. There's this hideout I've been hearing rumors about just a few kilometers east." She beams at him.

Vincent nods his understanding.

This must be her way of saying he is a fun guy, too.

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**A/N: **I really should be in bed right now. Why do I derive joy out of posting at ungodly hours of the night (technically day)? Whim, mayhap. In light of the fact that I'm going to be seriously sleep-deprived tomorrow, I will bid you adieu. Thank you for reading! Again, thank you for the sweet, supportive reviews! I will reply, I promise!


	4. The Observation

**Theft**

**The Observation**

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"Hiya, Vince!" exclaims a voice, so close to his ear that the warm breath that sails out caresses a fair portion of his face. He tepidly meets eyes with the owner of the voice. His eyes are distracted, however, to the odd way the bangs frame her face, and the reason for that oddness. Vincent blinks twice, and allows a single brow to sail imperceptibly up his forehead, but he says nothing.

"Hello, Yuffie," he responds finally, and brings a glass of water to his lips.

A frown dawns across her face, and she straightens.

He's taken aback by the sudden flash of silver, the telltale sign of a blade dancing, before it disappears from view. The only evidence of its appearance is the glut of long black locks clutched in her hand, and the sway of just-shortened hair falling familiarly into place around her cheeks.

His mouth parts in bewilderment.

"Never mind," she interrupts before he can get a word out, "it was stupid, anyway." He watches her carefully fold away the disappointment from her expression. She releases her hold and sable locks flock to the ground. Before long the discarded mass lies at their feet.

Guilt slides through him. He doesn't understand why, but it's there, so he comes to understand there must be a reason for it.

"Yuffie! Why—don't make a mess!" exclaims Tifa from behind the counter, sounding sadly exasperated.

Yuffie guffaws, more loudly than usual, if he remembers correctly. "Sorry, Boobs!" She omits the offer to clean up the mess. "I just dropped by really quick on my way back. I actually gotta run now! See ya! Bye, Vincent!" she spouts cheerfully before, before pouncing out the door of Seventh Heaven.

Tifa grimaces, and grabs the broom from the corner of the bar. "That Yuffie," sighs Tifa resignedly, "I knew I'd have to clean up after her." Her eyebrows knit in consternation as she kneels closer to the dark scatter on the floor. _All her hair?_ She glances at Vincent, but quickly averts her eyes. "What a shame," she murmurs, and proceeds to sweep it into a dust pan.

Vincent watches Tifa return the floor to its spotless state, but he ponders on Yuffie, and on the few seconds he was able to glimpse Yuffie's odd ponytail. He takes another sip from his glass, and wonders on what he should have said.

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**A/N: **What _should_ he have said?

I'm back, after a mess of a time. Going to try this writing thing again. Thank you for reading!


	5. The Lure

**Theft**

**The Lure**

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Vincent should have anticipated it. It was simply in her nature to make a scene out of every possible situation. Christmas was no exception.

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Vincent saw the blinking pinpricks of red and green light as he approached. The bar's exterior emanated warmth and cheer, but resisted excessiveness. He would not have come, but Tifa had made it clear that his company would be very welcome at their little holiday party. Vincent caught sight of Cloud, who was just short of opening the door.

"Vincent, you came," remarked Cloud, looking slightly worn from a long day of deliveries, but otherwise in good spirits.

Vincent nodded. "Tifa invited me."

"She'll be glad to see you." Cloud pushed open the door. Vincent moved to follow him in, when Cloud's entire form jerked to a stop. The ex-SOLDIER's hand went instantly to the large blade strapped to his back, but Vincent, recognizing the flash of silver, stayed the alarmed man's hand.

Yuffie stared mischievously out at them from behind her shuriken, which she had used as a barricade to keep them from coming in. She stuck her tongue out, gaze fixed on Cloud.

"What are you doing, Yuffie?" Cloud's eyes narrowed at the offending weapon mere inches from his face.

She pointed up. The two men followed her finger to the small sprig of mistletoe hanging over the door of Seventh Heaven. "Man up, Cloud Strife!" blustered Yuffie with an excited glint in her eye. "You owe me one!" She angled her face neatly to one side, and pointed directly to her cheek.

Cloud looked nothing short of perplexed. He sent a questioning glance at Tifa, who stood several feet behind Yuffie. Tifa merely sighed and shrugged. The ninja had staked out for hours at the door, waiting for him. Tifa couldn't blame the girl; she still had a bit of a crush on Cloud.

"A kiss?" Cloud meant to ask as clarification, but the words had Yuffie's cheeks tinge pink. Cloud attempted to knock the shuriken away and push his way inside, but Yuffie strategically placed her entire body behind her signature weapon and poked her neck out, between two dangerously sharp blades.

"NOOOOOOPE!" she shrieked stubbornly. "You're not getting out of this one!"

Cloud frowned. "I'm not going to kiss you because of a silly plant."

"Oh, let him be, Yuffie." Tifa sounded uncharacteristically impatient. By now, Yuffie's overt display had attracted the attention of several other people gathered inside, namely Cid, Nanaki, and Barret; all of whom stared on rather amusedly, as if expecting a fight to break out between the two stubborn oxen.

"No, Yuffie. Stop fooling around."

Vincent, who had been frowning through Yuffie's childish prank, felt that Cloud was completely within his rights to decline; but he couldn't merely disregard the hurt he saw bleeding into her face after Cloud's blatant refusal. Her expression reminded him of his own experiences with romantic rebuff. She wasn't "fooling around."

He suddenly felt annoyed. Cloud was treating it as if he'd just been asked to kiss a frightful monster, but it was only Yuffie. She was a perfectly decent human being. Besides, Yuffie had, in the past, asked for more abominable things before. A Christmass peck wasn't entirely unreasonable, was it? Why did Yuffie insist on Cloud, anyway?

The entire situation was unpleasant, the more Vincent thought about it.

"You're such a kill-joy!" Yuffie begrudgingly lowered her shuriken, pouting petulantly at her loss.

Cloud suddenly felt himself being pushed aside from behind. Tifa, eyes as wide in surprise as Cloud, caught his arm before he fell on his face.

Yuffie's eyebrows knitted in confusion. "What's—" She stopped short, eyes catching sight of the red-cloaked figure looming over her.

Yuffie's babbling was silenced for a good three seconds, as Vincent took what Cloud could not. Vincent removed his lips from hers, scarlet eyes dark with satisfied intent. "Will that be all, Yuffie?" he murmured, the low timber of his voice husky and rich in her ear.

She mouthed wordlessly, completely taken aback. Vincent continued into the establishment, curiously impervious to the slew of dumbfounded gapes. Of all the outcomes that the onlookers had conjured in their heads, _that_ was certainly not one of them.

"Holy shit, Vince," spluttered Yuffie. Her cheeks were bright red.

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**A/N:** This little plot bunny popped into my head, and since it's the holiday season, I thought, heck, ride with it! I realize that it may be a little OOC, but we'll just say the Christmas giddies got to me. Yuffie is so freaking lovable. I love her.

Nevertheless, if you have critique, lay it on me. I want to improve! Lastly, thank you for reading!


	6. The Slip

**Theft**

**The Slip**

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"I'm freezing!" exclaimed Yuffie, chattering her teeth for good measure. Her cry drifted into the winter air, landing on unheeding ears. They continued trekking through the plain. Snow began to descend from the sky, dotting her eyelashes and melting against her forearms. She pierced one of her traveling companions with a grouchy look. Didn't he care? At all? "I said," she repeated meaningfully, "I'm freezing!"

"I apologize for your discomfort, Yuffie," replied Nanaki, padding in front of them, his scarlet fur coated with snow particles. She felt her fingers itch. If it were possible, she would have ripped the fur off him and glued it to her exposed skin. "The weather does appear to be taking a turn for the worse." Nanaki slowed to Yuffie's pace and let his fur brush against her leg. At first, Yuffie had to bite back a yelp from the initial sting, but it began to feel warm and nice.

Yuffie's lips melted into a smile of gratitude. "Thanks, Nanaki. I'm not going to lie, if I could rip off your fur and take it all for myself, I would have done it by now." Nanaki made a gruff sound. Yuffie hoped it was a chuckle. Someone had to have a funny bone around her, and it certainly wasn't Vincent Valentine. She glared at the offending man, eyeing his long cloak with unconcealed envy.

Vincent glanced at her, aware of her eyes on him. "Perhaps you should have dressed more warmly," he suggested mildly.

If Yuffie's spit didn't freeze, she would have spat at him. "Are you crazy? Dress like an Eskimo? How would I do my job if I had all these layers of _clothes_ in my way?" She huffily hiked up her socks, which were slipping down her thigh. It didn't do much to keep the heat. Vincent did not say another word. She let her anger simmer out. It wasn't like it he was obliged to lend her his cloak, but he was certainly no gentlemen. No wonder he didn't get some.

After hours of walking, the town just south of Icicle Inn began to twinkle in the distance. By now, Yuffie had gotten used to the cold. It didn't even really bother her anymore, though she was feeling a bit sleepy.

"Boy, am I glad to see civilization! I feel a hot shower coming on!" she cried. Vincent and Nanaki had the collective chattiness of an ice pick. Nanaki suddenly nudged her leg. "What's up, Nanaki?"

He merely stared at her, bewildered. "Yuffie?"

He bumped her again, and she began to frown. She could barely feel it. That was kind of bad, wasn't it? "Nanaki, you're kind of walking into me."

Nanaki halted where he was, cocking his head, ochre eye shaded with concern. "Yuffie, you're not walking straight."

Yuffie cackled, startling Vincent and Nanaki both. "Pish-posh! I'm as straight as a pole!" Vincent approached her, unbuckling his cloak as he did so. Yuffie's eyes widened with glee, and she whistled. "Take it off!" Vincent jerked her against him—he felt so unfairly warm. He wrapped the cloak around her, and leaned down, peering into her eyes. Purring with pleasure, Yuffie rubbed her hand up the length of his chest. Vincent barely kept himself from jerking back in shock.

"Yuffie, you cheeks are red," he said levelly.

She smirked. "It's because you're such a sexy _beast_, Vincent."

"Do you feel cold?" he asked with an undercurrent of urgency. "Are you sleepy?"

Yuffie suddenly felt worried, because he seemed worried. She nodded somberly. "I'm sleepy, we've been walking for ages." Vincent suddenly lifted her up. Yuffie didn't protest, in part because her brain felt a little muddled—were her jokes out of line? Was she even cracking jokes?—in part because he felt so good, like a radiator.

"We have to hurry," she heard Vincent say. She let her head loll into Vincent's chest. Suddenly, her entire body shivered violently and, to Yuffie's alarm, her vision went a little white at the edges. It was probably all the snow. Snow was white and cold. She felt herself being pressed closer.

"Don't sleep, Yuffie," he said, and it sounded as close to a command as she'd ever heard from him.

She frowned, staring unashamedly at his pectorals. He was being unfair. What else was she supposed to do? "If you don't bounce around so much, Vince, I might be able to sleep."

He glanced down at her. "Don't."

"Fine," she muttered, sullen, glad that she at least got to stare at his chest, an attractive sight indeed.

Yuffie was vaguely aware of approaching lights, and seeing carpet at one point somewhere past her dangling feet. It was like being sucked into a vacuum, a sauna. It was a lot toastier now. She sneezed, and was glad she didn't ruin her wonderful view with snot. "Hey, Vince, I feel a little better. You can let me down now," she said groggily, hoping it made it out intelligible.

To her surprise, he did just that. She scrambled to keep her balance, but Vincent kept a firm hold on her arms, and she realized the fuzzy feeling propping the back of her legs was fur. She blinked heavily; the bright light in this place was awfully irritating. "Where are we?" she mumbled, staring at her limp noodle legs. The floor was white. Was she in the snow again? Sheesh.

Suddenly, Vincent and Nanaki began to strip her down. Yuffie's eyes snapped open, and she had to keep herself from twisting Vincent's arm and breaking it behind him. She was torn between yelling at him for being sleazy when the situation did not call for it, and coaxing him to go on, except without the feline in the room.

"I'm sorry," Vincent whispered, sounding utterly ashamed, but continued unbuckling her top. At least he had the decency to turn away as it dropped to the ground. She had once fantasized about this, but it didn't really seem right. Nanaki yanked off her boots and pulled down her socks. She felt fumbling fingers undo her shorts. This was all so racy and wrong at the same time.

"Whoa—babe," was all that gurgled out.

Suddenly, water came out of nowhere. It hurt, like she was being shot with stone pellets. She tried to raise her arms to keep it from her face, but it only stung her arms. "Vince!" she shrieked as loudly as she could muster, agitated by his juvenile prank. "Stop! It hurts! Asshole! Jerk!" Even her shoes were getting soaked. She loved these shoes, and she hated running around feeling squishy in them. She leaned down to take them out of the tub, but Vincent stopped her.

"Steady," he said.

"I am fine!" she shouted, louder than she intended. Vincent didn't even blink, so she must not have shouted all that loud. Nanaki nudged the shower knob, increasing the heat of the water. The numbness began to melt away, and Yuffie realized how cold it really was. It was really cold. She reached out to turn up the temperature, but Vincent stayed her hand.

"Slowly," explained Nanaki.

"I'm wet," was all she could say. She shuddered, wrapping her arms around herself. "Damn, I'm cold." She glanced at Vincent. He wasn't looking at her. She half-wished he would.

"Why didn't you say you were cold earlier, Yuffie?" Nanaki asked.

"I did," she said, vaguely recalling being a pretty big brat about it. She craned her neck painfully to Vincent's direction. "I wanted your cloak, but you wouldn't give it to me."

Vincent merely blinked at the ground, as if fascinated by the tiling. "I'm sorry."

Eventually, Yuffie felt the heat return to her body. She was so exhausted, and she wanted to take a real shower, without soaking underclothes on and onlookers, but Vincent and Nanaki led her out of the tub and wrapped her in several towels.

"Can you dry yourself?" Vincent asked. It was a clinical question. Yuffie nodded weakly, clutching the towels like lifelines. "Please tell us if you require assistance." They left her in the bathroom and shut the door to give her some semblance of privacy. It began to dawn on Yuffie just what had occurred. They were treating her for prolonged cold exposure. She had probably said and done some pretty bizarre things in the process.

Yuffie stripped her soaking wet panties off from under the protective cover of the towels just as the door opened. "Spare clothes," grunted Nanaki, dropping them gently on the floor with his teeth and retreating out of the bathroom. She dried herself quickly, and rushed pell-mell to clothe herself. She hugged the bundle happily to her bare chest a moment before putting them on. It was a spare set of clothes she had stuffed in her pack before setting off for the mission. Admittedly, it was a bit of a Princess-move, but her ninja senses had told her it was a good idea. She never ignored ninja senses. She pulled on her sports bra, wonderfully dry panties, her old black flower-patterned shirt and shorts with practiced ease. Then, she gathered the pile of soaked clothes from the tub, rung them out, and set them on the tub ledge to dry.

She opened the door, feeling practically invincible. She caught sight of Vincent and suddenly felt apologetic, and just a smidgeon humiliated. "Sorry to put you through all that, Vince," she said gingerly.

He did not respond, but went into the restroom and came out with another dry towel. "Your hair is wet."

Yuffie frowned, shaking her head. "I'm alright now." She took the towel, despite not really needing it, because she saw the look of disapproval in Vincent's face. Heck, after all that, the least she could do was put a dry towel on her head. He motioned to some blankets on the bed before taking a seat at the window. She leapt for them, rolling around until she was covered head-to-toe and resembled an egg roll. She swiveled until she could see Vincent. "Where's Nanaki?"

"Getting you something warm to drink," he answered, glancing at her. "Please keep your hair dry." It wasn't her fault. The towel fell off into the bed when she was frolicking about.

"I owe you two a huge favor. How about I buy you a round of drinks? Or another pair of leather pants?" She waggled her eyebrows.

"There's no need." He completely ignored her attempt at humor. "You would have done the same."

Yuffie had to think about it for a moment. Would she have wrapped her thigh-high socks around him? Dragged him to an inn, thrown him into the shower, and stripped him naked? It was an appealing idea, but she really didn't know how she would have reacted if Vincent the Invincible had fallen ill.

The door opened and in came Nanaki carrying bottled tea delicately between his jaws. He flung one at her. It bounced against her shield of blankets before rolling toward the pillows. With some effort, Yuffie stuck an arm out and pulled it back to her. It was still hot.

"Thanks, Nanaki. I'm buying you filet mignon next time I get the chance."

"How are you feeling?" he replied.

"Pretty good."

"Drink the tea."

Yuffie unscrewed the lid and took a swig. It felt like heaven going down her system. Her toes tingled wonderfully. Suddenly, like a train rearing through a thick fog, she remembered something. She scrambled horrendously out of the blankets. She fixed Vincent with a gape of disbelief. "Vince." He didn't look at her. "Vince!" she repeated urgently, cheeks coloring rapidly. He turned. "I didn't call you anything along the lines of 'sexy beast,' did I? I didn't, right?"

He turned away, not answering.

Shit, shit, shit! She did! It wasn't a lie or anything, but he wasn't supposed to hear stuff like that! It was reserved strictly for mental musing!

She jerked the blanket over her face. "Shit."

Nanaki made a gruff sound. Probably laughing his damn ass off. Stupid feline, why didn't he shut her up?

It felt like her entire face was on fire, a far cry from her previously icy state. Why didn't they just drop her like a piece of dung into the snow and leave her there? It couldn't have been that bad, right? Her recollection was a little hazy. Most of what she remembered was watching Vincent's yummy chest, so she couldn't have said _too_ much. She flipped over abruptly, yanking the blankets with her. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," replied Nanaki.

She didn't expect Vincent to answer. She blinked at the wall, and, dropping her eyes, recognized Vincent's red cape lying on the floor with wet patches from the snow outside. It sent a fresh wave of redness to her face.

"Goodnight," said Vincent.

Yuffie's arm shot out and seized the bottle of tea. Wordlessly, she drained it in seconds, hoping the blaze of it would smother the one that suddenly licked at her insides.

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**A/N: **I can't stop writing Yuffentine. I _can't stop_. I experimented with a marginally louder, crasser "I-secretly-have-the-hots-for-you" Yuffie this time around. Forgive me for playing on the cliché of winter-induced delirium. I felt like it fit the holiday mood. I would have posted other pieces I happen to be more fond of, but I have a thing for sticking with the seasons, if I can help it.

Discrepancies I want to address: 1) I honestly don't know how long and how delirious one can get due to prolonged cold exposure, so Yuffie's reaction and subsequent recovery was-let's call it-a creative liberty. 2) "Hot bottled tea? Bottled tea, I can understand, but hot? How the heck?" Creative liberty again. Sorry that I skimped on the logic; I was running with a plot bunny.

Other than that, I appreciate critique, if you have any. And since I am utterly enamored with this pairing, if you have any prompts you'd like to give me, I'll jump at the opportunity! Lastly, thank you for reading my atrociously long author's note. Enjoy your day!


	7. The StakeOut

**Theft**

**The Stake-Out**

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Truth be told, she wasn't just conducting espionage for Reeve when she intervened. All done up in her incredible Moogle cloak, she had been scouting for some materia. That, and she liked to keep tabs on her friends, which on good days included the catatonic red-cloaked zombie friend Vincent.

During her first sweep of the neighborhood, she had nearly leapt out of her hiding place in excitement after catching a glimpse of his familiar gold-pointed shoes. But something told her to wait instead, and follow him. What if he was heading to a strip club? Or better yet, buying a new pair of those sexy leather pants? Either way, the outcome almost guaranteed something blackmail-worthy. She scuttled across the rooftops, leaping from building to building to keep up with his determined pace (he was definitely getting the pants) when she spied it in the distance. She hesitated for a moment, and looked back at him. It was Shinra Mansion.

She was in no way fond of that hellhole, but curiosity (and just a twinge of worry) got the best of her. She traipsed right in after him, taking the decidedly more elegant route consisting of a combination of wooden beams and dusty air shafts. As she peered out from one of the vents, she sucked in a sharp breath when she saw Vincent wince and drop to his knee. She pulled in her knee, ready to kick out the vent and get the drop on him when a voice stopped her leg right where it was.

It was a woman's purr. Yuffie's eyes nearly bugged out of her head, and she craned her neck to see. It was a woman, wearing a long red cape like Vincent's and—whoa, she had legs that went on forever!

"We meet again. I've wanted to see you, _love_."

Yuffie almost gasped in shock, giving away her position. Pay dirt! Glee overcame her features. Vincent may have acted like a little virgin gentleman, but there was no doubt: this was a booty call! Even more damning, he was totally a legs-guy. She rolled on her side, struggling to contain her laughter. That was all she needed to see. Grinning, she backtracked out of the air duct on her forearms and dropped into an adjoining room. That bastard had a working libido, after all! She brushed the dust off her Moogle cloak and began to head out when she heard the unmistakable gunfire of Cerberus.

Whoa. Kinky.

There was another round of shots. Gunfire continued to screech through the silence, rattling the windows. Alarm caught her by the lips. Was Vincent fighting? Turning on her heels, she let her feet carry her through toward the familiar sound of combat.

She slipped into a vast room, her suspicions near confirmed. Those were killing blows. Yuffie drew her shuriken and leapt onto the balustrade.

Without warning, the woman thrust her arm into the center of Vincent's chest, yanking out a luminous materia. Vincent's muffled breathing came in erratic, wheezing bursts, and he crumpled to the ground. Yuffie froze. Did she just watch Vincent die? No. No. There was no way he was going down that easy. If she could just get a phoenix down to him in time—!

Yuffie's body leapt to automatic action. She dropped to the floor, hurling her shuriken. The woman dodged its trajectory and retaliated, but Yuffie kept running. It wasn't about fighting. It was about getting Vincent out of here alive. Right on cue, the shuriken returned, barreling through the partially-opened door and landing right between the woman and Vincent's prone form. Yuffie grabbed him, using the blinding light as a distraction, and slipped out of the recently-mangled door.

She knew the woman would think they escaped and follow them out, but Yuffie hid the both of them inside the mansion until she was certain the coast was clear. With the initial adrenaline wearing off, Vincent's lifeless body was proving to be a heavier burden to bear than she had considered. She eased him down against the wall, undoing the straps and pulling away the front flaps of his cloak to inspect the damage. Her lips creased in worry. She was no healer. Did phoenix downs even heal giant gaping holes in the center of one's chest? Blood escaped slowly down his shirt, its grisly color lost in the black fabric.

"Vincent?" She slapped lightly against his cheek. No response. "Vincent? Crap, Vincent, you need to tell me what to do!" She produced a precious feather from the pouch on her belt. It had cost a fortune. To snitch, that is. She fumbled to give it to him when she caught sight of the wound itself. She leaned in closer, expecting him to draw back or send her a look as if repulsed. She would have welcomed any sort of response from him at this point. As she watched, the wound began closing itself up, until the only telltale sign he'd even been marred was the tear in his clothing and the exposed scar-ridden flesh underneath.

"Whoa." She made sure he was still unconscious before gingerly placing her hand on his chest. He was warm, which was a relief. She tilted her head. Her hand looked so small there, on him. Catching herself feeling slightly pink, she cleared her throat, and hauled him back up, slinging one of his limp arms around her petite shoulders. She wiped the smear of blood against the front of her thigh, trying to control the trembling of her lips as she did so.

He winced, the skin around his eyes pinched in pain. His breathing became suddenly labored, and he doubled over as if he had been given a blow to the stomach. Yuffie bit back a yelp and struggled to maintain her balance, sliding her foot forward into a lunge to keep them both from falling on their faces. She cast about anxiously, hoping Vincent's opponent was nowhere near enough to hear it. "Shh, Vincent," she whispered as reassuringly as she could, "I've got you now."

The hard creases of his face smoothed out, and the thin, pained line of his lips slackened. His body relaxed. Much easier. Yuffie drew him as close as her short arms would allow and forced him to put all his weight against her. She then began the long trek out of the mansion and to safety.

* * *

She was extremely relieved when he began to stir.

Watching over him through the silent hours had been a nightmare. She was scared the lifeless lump on the bench was really—she got agitated just thinking about it—lifeless.

At one point, she got so nervous she had to place her ear directly over his mouth to make sure he was still breathing. Her efforts did not go unrewarded. She was pleased to find that he was, in fact, still alive. His warm breath ghosted against her ear, sending unwanted shivers down her spine. She hastily straightened, feeling her cheeks redden.

If he were ugly, things would have been fine—she might have even been disgusted. As it were, he was one fine specimen of a man, and Yuffie could not help feel like she just stole one preciously intimate moment from him. She harrumphed back to her seat across from him and propped one leg up on the bench, slinging her arm around it, in a very unladylike manner.

Eventually, Yuffie just got bored. She slid off her seat and loomed over him. His nose was really quite sharp. His eyelashes were long. She poked him in the face, gauging his reaction. There wasn't one, really. His face was pretty soft, though. Assured that he was still out cold, she allowed her fingers to dance down his shirt, until it reached his pockets. She slipped them gleefully inside, and pulled out a neat pair of materia.

She grinned at him. "It's not like you'll be missing it, anyway, Vince!"

She stowed them away in her pockets and thought about returning to her seat when curiosity got the better of her, as it often did. She wondered if he carried anything else of value on him. Probing around, she found his cellphone and a couple of cards. She flipped open the cellphone, and was affronted to find her last four voicemail messages in his inbox. Stupid bastard. That was the last time she was saving his ass. She played them, not even certain when she left them. And it wasn't like Vincent was going to protest, or be much company.

"_Viiiiiiiinceeee! I thought I saw you at the grocery store the other day! I could've sworn I saw you! This guy had the same black hair; it was really long, but it looked kind of greasy, so I realized it couldn't be you because your hair doesn't really do the grease thing since it's more like a shine and all. I talked to him, thinking he might at least sound like you, but he didn't. Anyway, call me back and I'll tell you more about it!"_

Hmm, that sounded about right. That grimy guy asked for her digits afterward, and though he did _slightly_ resemble Valentine, there was no chance in hell. She glanced at his hair.

"_Hiya, Vince! You didn't call me back! I understand. I'm busy, too. I'm thinking about making a cloak. It's not going to look anything like yours—mine will be loads cooler. When I'm done, I'll let you know! You'll probably want one for yourself, you jealous prick!"_

That's right. That was about the time she started making her Moogle cloak. It took her a while to find the materials, and even longer to get past the enormous humdrum of actually sewing it together, but she was damned proud of it. It was the best she'd even made (the only thing she'd ever made). She would probably see a flash of envy out of those red eyes when he laid eyes on it.

"_Like I said, I'd call you when I finished! I actually finished it ages ago—the cloak, I mean—but I've been juggling some pretty heavy missions lately. I'm sure you are, too. Tifa wants to know when you'll be in town, Vince, since we haven't seen you in a while. I'm not too concerned. I did take a peek at your place last week. Boy, did I get an eyeful! Moogle boxers, Vince? I'm shocked!"_

Yuffie snorted at the recollection. She did sneak into his flat that week, hoping rather deviously that she could catch him unawares, or in the shower—or both. To her dismay, he wasn't home when she dropped in unannounced. It wasn't a big deal or anything, just made it easier for her to plant the boxers in his drawer.

"_Damn it, Vince! Answer your phone! Sheesh! Reeve let it slip that you'll be in on my next mission! So, I'll see you soon! Did you find the boxers?"_

That was last week. She had been a little upset that he hadn't called at the time. Did she sound, perhaps, a little too eager in the last one? She frowned. Why did she let it slip on the boxers? If he hadn't checked the messages yet, it was still going to be a surprise. She pressed the "delete" button, and flipped the cover of his phone back into place. She snuck it back into his pocket and sat back down, resting her chin on her propped knee. Listening to all those messages reminded her of how much she wanted company.

"Wake up already, Vince," she murmured sullenly.

Yuffie was impressed when he did just that.

* * *

**A/N:** Okay, really now. Who, in their right mind, would believe Yuffie for a second when she said she only _happened_ to run into him at Shinra Mansion? And Rosso the Crimson is simply not Vincent's type. Yuffetine, I've discovered, is the only thing that can get me to write well over 1, 000 words effortlessly. That from the queen of brevity? No easy feat. That is all.

Comments and critique appreciated. Thank you for reading!


	8. The Turnabout

**Theft**

**The Turnabout **

* * *

Yuffie clambered into the room, a flush of what could have been both embarrassment and disappointment painted across the bridge of her nose. She slammed the door behind her and yanked off her shoes, dropping mulishly onto the mattress. She fastened her white-hot glower on the ugly wallpaper, a brittle suggestion away from slashing at it with her shuriken.

That incredible jerk! That had been her first kiss! And he had the nerve to just gape like a fish for ages and say "something" like some witty mastermind? She took deep breath through clenched teeth. Cloud Strife was a pestilence.

Her shoulders sagged. She couldn't stay mad at him. She had a stupid crush on the poor fool. That baffled, self-conscious look he gave her after she had kissed him on the cheek was no poor indicator. He hadn't returned her feelings, hadn't even looked like he was about to consider them, either. He just stared at the floor for the rest of the night, for the all the world, looking like a boy about to be scolded. Yuffie felt her stomach roil with guilt, watching him like that, so she went easy on him and pretended like his shoddy reaction didn't really bother her.

But it did.

Where was Aerith when you needed her? She would know how to cheer her up. She glanced around the empty room. The girls were gone. In their place sat a pair of packs: minimalistic and sturdy for Tifa, and feminine and well-kept for Aerith. They were probably out enjoying the Gold Saucer's Wonder Square or something. She couldn't blame them; they all needed a little fun in their lives once in a while.

Yuffie grumpily put her shoes back on. She was going out to buy herself a huge fatty tub of ice cream, come back, eat it all by her lonesome self, mope, and sleep. Good plan, Yuffie, she commended herself. She grabbed some of the money she had snitched off Cid last night, locked the door behind her, and went to seek a dejected girl's miracle food.

On her way back, carrying a tub of Rainbow Chocolate Double Fudge Ice Cream with an air of defiance—she'd put a _hole_ in the next person who even so much as looked at her funny—she bumped into broody, old Vincent Valentine. She narrowed her eyes at him, expecting—well, honestly, she didn't expect him to _say_ anything—him to give her and her package an odd look. He didn't even blink, only nodded solemnly before stepping aside to let her down the hall first. His utter lack of judgment as to the reason for her pathetic condition, frankly, flattered her.

"Hey, Vince, just getting back from the festivities?" she asked brightly. He shook his head. Frowning, she pressed on. "Going back to your room?"

"Yes."

That was a lot better. Sometimes the guy worried her. It was like he didn't know how to use his vocal cords. "I'm just turning in, too," she supplied. Vincent did not move from his conciliatory position at the side of the hallway. He blinked once more, as if indicating to go on ahead. The corner of her lips quirked up, despite the nasty feeling that she wasn't quite ready to smile again just yet. Boy, this guy was a fossil. Hadn't chivalry died ages ago?

"Ladies first," she said with a flourish. His eyebrows rose cryptically. "That means you," she added, biting back an unladylike crow of laughter.

"Thank you." He turned and began walking down the hallway ahead of her, scarlet cape billowing behind him like a frightened shadow. Watching him go, Yuffie realized that she didn't really want to eat ice cream all by herself, alone in her room. (She wanted to _eat_ all by herself—she had _paid_ for the thing, a rarity in itself, but she didn't want to _sit_ by herself.)

She dashed after him. "Is Cloud in your room?" she asked hesitantly.

"I saw him leave several minutes ago."

Yuffie sighed with relief. "Can I hang out in your room?"

Vincent glanced at her, looking—if she were so bold as to say she could decipher it—curious. "If it pleases you."

She refrained from making an inappropriate comment. Vincent wouldn't have comprehended it, he was so old. She followed him down the hallway until they reached their room. Vincent silently produced the key and opened the door, motioning for her to go in first. Chivalry, Yuffie discovered, was not dead.

She surveyed the room. It appeared the guys weren't in, either. It was an exact replica of the girls' room, except there was a noticeable lack of sports bras and feminine hygiene products sitting on top of the bulky dresser. It smelled like men, too. Yuffie crinkled her nose. That faint bitter smell was probably Cid's cigarettes.

"Where do you sleep?" She tried to pretend it wasn't the most invasive question she'd ever asked him. He pointed to the bed sitting closest to the window. Somehow, that didn't surprise her. She plopped right down on his bed, and popped open the lid of her ice cream. Much to her satisfaction, it looked sufficiently thawed. She pulled the plastic spoon from out of her back pocket and dug in.

The first bite was bliss. She moaned and her eyes fluttered closed in delight. Did she pick good ice cream or what? All the sugar and preservatives flooding her system made her feel loads better. Really, it did wonders.

Vincent quietly took his seat across from her, on a chair by the window. She didn't really feel like sharing, but, well, he had been really polite to her. "Want some?"

"No, thank you."

Good answer. Why didn't she hang out with him more often? He was so easy to get along with! He even let her wallow and stuff her face without so much as a peep! Oh, that's right. He didn't seem to like company—or enjoy it, was the better word. She glanced up, chewing a wad of chocolate goo. He didn't seem to mind her sitting here with him. "So what's a guy like you doing staying in on a night like this?" Wow, her humor levels were abysmal tonight. Vincent's eyes flicked to her. Even the vampire thought so, she thought grimly. "You don't have to answer that," she added.

"Why aren't you outside on a night like this?" he replied.

Did he want her to leave? "Do you want me to leave?" she asked.

"I did not say that."

Yuffie considered his question. Was he—Vincent Valentine, loner-extraordinaire—curious about her life? She couldn't blame the guy. Her life was pretty awesome, not that she was bragging or anything. Or was he, maybe, concerned? Even someone as detached as Vincent could probably tell she was acting way out of the norm—if "norms" could even be applied to her (she liked to think that they didn't).

"You're an attractive guy, Vince." He looked rather alarmed. Whatever he was expecting her to say, it was most definitely not that. "I'm sure you've kissed a lot of girls." She swallowed another bite of ice cream. "You probably still remember your first kiss, too, right? You seem like the type."

Was Vincent blushing? It was so faint that she dismissed it quickly as a trick of the light. She shrugged, sighing and placing her tub on the bedside table. "My first kiss was a flop, let me tell ya." She motioned to the ice cream. "That's why I'm trying to clog my arteries and eat myself to oblivion."

"That is understandable."

She hadn't even been expecting him to contribute. She was glad that he did. She took another bite, feeling unexpectedly cheered up. Looking back into the tub, she realized she was nearly finished. She didn't feel like going out to buy another one, contrary to her first thoughts. She felt okay. That was fast (even for her)!

Vincent idly watched her toss the empty container in the trash. Her cheeks went a little warm at the thought of his wine-red eyes following her. Yuffie gulped. That unwelcome feeling was coming back. She glanced at Vincent, and sure enough, the lucidity of his eyes made her head feel fuzzy. She stood there for a moment, staring at their hideous wallpaper—it looked even worse than the one in their room. No, no, no, get a grip, Yuffie! It's just all the ice cream making your stomach feel funny, she assured herself. No one eats it that fast and gets away with it. Comforted by her rationalizing, she crushed the remains of her midnight snack with her shoe.

She suddenly beamed at Vincent. She was going to have to tell Aerith and Tifa just how nice of a guy he was. He had been observing something outside and didn't look up until she was standing right next to him.

"Hey, Vince, thanks for keeping me company tonight." She bent down and kissed him on the cheek. Shocked, they both blinked at each other. Beyond mortified, Yuffie realized she had left a chocolate lip imprint on his skin. What was she doing? This was not in the plan! It was as if her brain hadn't consulted her body at all! "Whoops, sorry," she muttered, gingerly wiping the evidence off his face. His skin was impossibly soft and pliant under her thumb. It felt like hot boils had erupted all over her skin.

"Okay, I'm turning in for the night!" she piped, failing utterly to contain her mortification. "Bye!" She bounded out of the door and slammed it behind her, not even bothering to wait and see his reaction. She headed straight back to her room, fumblingly turned the lock, and tumbled inside like a ragdoll.

"Yuffie!" cried Aerith and Tifa in unison. Yuffie shot to her feet, locking the door behind her. She took a moment to let the heat drain from her face.

"We were wondering where you went off to," said Aerith. A little smile drifted onto her face. "How was your date with Cloud?"

"Terrible, actually," she admitted unabashedly, letting herself drop backwards onto the bed.

"Oh, I'm sorry," said Aerith.

Yuffie cleared her throat. "That's okay. I hung out with Vincent. He's pretty nice."

"Oh, you hung out with Vincent, huh?" The teasing undercurrent in Aerith's voice did not go unnoticed.

Yuffie grit her teeth to keep from smiling. "Yeah," she said as unaffectedly as she could manage, "he was really cool with me stuffing my face in his room."

"That was very kind of him," said Tifa mildly, folding the clothes she'd just changed out of. Yuffie couldn't keep the pout from her face as she turned to them. Tifa had her own way of teasing.

"Don't kiss Cloud," she informed them touchily. That shut them both up.

* * *

**A/N:** Question: Was Vincent part of the party before the Gold Saucer date scene? Because if it happens he wasn't, well then, I suppose this will just have to be considered a hypothetical situation. And we will just have to pretend that Yuffie was in a generous kissing mood that day. Comments/critique appreciated. Thank you for reading! Have a splendid day!


	9. The Incursion

**Theft**

**The Incursion**

**

* * *

**

She gave him a stern look, one he would have taken seriously if she had been sixty years older and his mother. As it was, he merely turned and went back to resupplying his cabinets with dishware. Yuffie hauled herself onto the countertop, sticking her bottom right next to the stack of plates he'd been handling. It did the trick. He stopped putting away his dishes.

"I don't have a right to call it?" she snapped at him, flabbergasted. She seemed unusually worked up about something he deemed so insignificant. "That's crazy! You let Cloud and Barret call you!"

"Yuffie, how did you find my place?"

"I followed you, what other way is there? " She blew steam out of her small nose. "Don't try to change the subject!" On the contrary, Vincent felt it was a very pertinent subject. He had been minding his own business when she slipped in through his kitchen window, dusting herself off as if she had lived here.

"Why are you here, Yuffie?"

She puffed up with imaginary importance. "Why else? I'm telling you, Vincent Valentine, I'm calling you!" He lifted a brow. His full name? She was serious. "You better damn well answer it!" He did not respond. She seemed to take it as acquiescence.

Satisfied, she slid off his counter and meandered idly to his tiny table, picking up the slice of toast that sat neatly on the plate. Vincent had recently resumed consuming food, but only when he desired the taste. She took a bite, then had the audacity to point at him with the corner of the slice. "This is good." She ambled out of the kitchen, dripping bread crumbs as she went.

Perplexed, Vincent replaced his plates before heading after her. He found her shoes dropped like pieces of pigeon poop at the entrance of his bedroom. He lifted his gaze, and sure enough, Yuffie Kisaragi was sitting on his bed, munching on his slice of toast. She wiggled her toes in her socks and blinked at him. "I'm crashing here tonight."

This wasn't processing. Yuffie was sitting in his bed, acting as if she'd lived here for years, and proclaiming that she was accommodating herself here tonight?

"Why?"

She slumped back into the bedspread, rolling her head into the plush pillow. He couldn't help but feel somewhat violated by the careless way she treating his bed. Sure, it had only been several weeks old, and was in no way comparable to his cozy, old coffin, but it was still _his_ bed. She grinned at him suddenly. "If you give me a reason for saying I couldn't call you, then I'll give you a reason for crashing here."

"I didn't think it was a point of debate."

She shrugged, clearly dissatisfied with the answer, and settled back into the thin comforter. "Hey, Vince. Mind giving me some privacy? I tend to sleep in my panties." She began undoing the button of her shorts.

"Stop." The word came out with a sense of immediate urgency. He did not want a naked minor in his bed. _In his bed._ Why was this happening?

She shot him a scandalous smile. "Or you can stay and watch me. Whatever floats your boat." She waggled her eyebrows. How did she have the gall?

"I don't feel comfortable speaking on the phone."

She blinked.

Vincent continued speaking, anything to keep her from unzipping her shorts. "Cloud is the same way. Barret doesn't call unless it's necessary. My phone isn't for conversation, Yuffie."

Much to Vincent's relief, she stopped trying to shed her clothes on his bed. She did not, however, re-button. "You should have said so sooner, Vince. Tifa said I could stay over at Seventh Heaven, but I have a feeling they'll be doing the nasty tonight, so I needed to find myself a place completely devoid of libido to crash." She smiled perkily at him. "There."

Yuffie had implanted, during their short conversation, more unwanted implications in his brain than he ever cared to consider. She pulled the comforter about her and curled into it, back pressed against the wall. "Don't worry. I don't smell or anything. I'll be out of your hair," she snorted, genuinely impressed by her own funny, "by dawn." She shut her eyes, and gave a soft hum of approval for the comfort. "By the way, Vince, I like talking to you on the phone, so let me call you, okay?" She opened her eyes blearily, a languid smile indicating she was nearly gone. She patted the space next to her, a rather large empty space, since her petite form did not take up much. "There's room, if you want."

He hadn't a chance to reply before she was adrift.

Vincent woke the next morning, sitting with his back propped against one of the bed's legs. The comforter was draped across him. Yuffie was nowhere to be seen.

He was missing three slices of bread.

* * *

**A/N:** I'm evening the playing field. Have I been unfairly torturing Yuffie these past few pieces? It's Vincent's turn.

Thank you all for the positive reviews! I get shamefully bubbly when I read them. You are all lovely. Also, a thank-you to **Deplora** and **serenbach** for answering my prior question!

Thank you for reading. As always, comments/critique welcomed. Have a scandalous day. ;)


	10. The Watch

**Theft**

**The Watch**

**

* * *

**

She cheers because it doesn't occur to her that he could die.

* * *

Her ears ring after the explosion, and she forces herself to search for him in the sky in spite of the pain. The heavens bleed black above her, and the stars prick through like needles through a blanket. But she doesn't see him. The ringing in her ears fades. She hears her own brittle warble.

"Vincent?"

He doesn't answer, not with the cool reassurance of a glance, or the soft noise in his throat to indicate he's listening. Gleaming debris streams through the air, instead, gracing her eyes with more beauty than she ever recalls seeing. She takes a short, shaky breath, reassuring herself that he's immortal—that he's probably laying out there somewhere, healing inhumanly fast with this pained scowl on his face that does nothing to make his pretty features any less attractive. Yes, she thinks, he must be just sitting out there somewhere—perhaps with a giant gaping hole in his chest that she could tease him with by sticking her hand straight through it and she'd pull out right before it closed on her arm, or she could really just let it close on her arm and be humorously stuck to him forever.

She blinks hard at the sky, eyes straining through the smoldering glow until she feels a hand on her arm. She turns sharply, lips downturned, angry that her hunt has been interrupted. Tifa's worried brown eyes meet hers. She doesn't shake her head, but Yuffie can tell what her gaze means.

She drops her eyes. She's so, _so_ mad at him for dying.

* * *

Tifa sets a glass of warm milk on the counter, where Yuffie's slouched figure sits. The ninja glares at it balefully.

"I don't want milk."

"It will make you feel better," Tifa insists, pushing it closer.

The surliness still apparent in her top lip, she concedes for a sip. Yuffie sets the glass down again, and the sound as it strikes the counter is hard and hollow. She doesn't bother to wipe at the milk mustache.

"Cloud and Shelke—" begins Tifa, but Yuffie jerks her head away to pretend she's not listening. She knows already; they think he's out there, still alive, probably taking his sweet time healing or something, but she's not of the same opinion. He would've answered his phone. He was actually getting pretty good about that of late.

The door opens behind her.

"Cloud, I didn't expect you back so early," she hears Tifa breath before she goes startlingly silent. Yuffie stares at her milk. There is a tense sort of silence. What, was Cloud naked and showing off his body or something?

Yuffie glances up as Tifa hurries forward. "How are you feeling, Vincent?"

Yuffie brain practically implodes at the name and she has to scrutinize the tall figure slouched at the doorway before she lets herself believe it.

It's him.

He walks slowly toward the counter, with an obvious ache to his entire body that is evidence he hasn't fully healed yet. His brow is twisted in pain, and, assisted by Tifa, he sits on the closest available chair to the door, which happens to be the one right next to her.

"Where did you find him?" she hears Tifa murmur to Cloud. Cloud responds in a voice even lower, and the words escape Yuffie's notice entirely, because she's busy staring daggers into her new neighbor.

He meets her eyes in the same, familiar, unaffected yet reassuring manner that would have eased her nerves before he went and got himself blown up, but now just infuriates her further. She stands up, and Tifa's lips part, intending to ask Yuffie to take it easy on the hugs because he's injured—but Yuffie ignores everything and socks him right in the nose.

His eyes widen like plates, and he doesn't even have the strength to cradle his bleeding face. Tifa and Cloud both suck in sharp breaths. Yuffie storms out of the bar with the milk mustache proud and defiant on her upper lip, not bothering to say a word.

Vincent rests his bloody face against the counter, too exhausted to protest.

"I think that was just her way of saying she missed you," Tifa hazards softly, reaching for a towel and some ice.

* * *

**A/N:** Posting this now because I'm not sure how much free time I'll have in the next few days. I thought it was really telling that Yuffie's concern was the last thing we saw before the DoC credits. I know there are many takes on Vincent's perceived "death/disappearance" and Yuffie's subsequent reaction, but I wanted to experiment with an angry half-acceptance half-denial. It came out a little bit _ehhh_, but at least I enjoyed writing the first half. Thank you for reading, for the reviews, and have a delightful day!


	11. The Ride

**Theft**

**The Ride**

**

* * *

**

She lurches to the side dangerously, green in the face. It's an awfully unhealthy shade on her. "Can't this thing ride any smoother?" she complains breathlessly.

Cid shoots her with look of curt displeasure. "Don't talk about my _Shera_ like that, brat! She rides smoother than a baby's bottom, so quit your yappin'!"

Yuffie rolls her eyes at the analogy, because it's obviously such a huge lie—why else would she feel like barfing her lunch? She reaches out to grab the railing to steady herself, but the slight careening sensation only makes her want to hurl more. She clasps her stomach. She hates WRO for sending her to faraway places, places that require air travel. It sickens her to the very core, and she curses them terribly for it.

Barret looks a little concerned at the rapidly changing color in her cheeks. "Why don't you go lie down, kid?" he suggests in his deep, gravelly voice. He gets up from his seat and leads her by the shoulder toward the barracks.

"Barret, I need to talk to you," shouts Cid over his shoulder.

"I'll be right there," replies Barret. They reach the hallway leading to the barracks when they both catch sight of Vincent walking out. Barret brightens considerably, rejoicing in the fact that he can avoid having his jacket soiled by Wutai vomit. "Oh, Vincent, Yuffie's feeling a little sick here. Why don't you take her to sit down? Get a bucket while you're at it."

Yuffie musters a feeble look of thanklessness in Barret's direction. Vincent, much to Yuffie's relief, does not comment on the pasty green color her visage has taken on, but merely leads the way to an unoccupied room and opens the door for her. She steps in and gingerly seats herself on the stiff bed. She has to take a moment to keep herself from upchucking because the damn bed _still_ wobbles like she's on some kind of horribly-built ship. By the time she can look up without spilling stomach acid, Vincent has disappeared. She shuts her eyes, and opens them abruptly when she hears tin hit the floor.

Vincent straightens himself after setting the bucket on the floor, his cloak billowing softly against his arm. She's always envied that cloak. She looks at the bucket, then slowly at him. "Thanks, Vinnie."

To her surprise, he seats himself on the chair by the door, instead of leaving. She smiles wanly. Boy, does she appreciate the company. She hates feeling like an invalid all the time—being stuck in a bathroom or some other room, usually with only a toilet bowl or bucket as companionship. As she heaves into the bucket, she thinks that she'll try not to steal Vincent's materia next time the itch strikes her.

She'll go straight for Cid and Barret first.

* * *

**A/N:** School has resumed! Expect updates, if any, to be sporadic and potentially disappointing. Once again, thank you all for leaving such lovely reviews. It really makes my heart soar. Thank you for reading! As always, comments/critique welcomed. Have an unexpectedly wonderful day!


	12. The Drop

**Theft**

**The Drop**

* * *

It's unfair, she thinks. Vincent doesn't deserve to be lonely all his life. He's a genuinely good guy. But, it's not as if she's going to go falling in love with him just over that little detail.

Her motion sickness decides to kick in at the loveliest of times. Her air-board wobbles dangerously off course, causing her stomach to churn even more than what she thinks she can handle. She grits her teeth, determined to make to the landing point before throwing it all up. She lurches unsteadily, and her foot slips out from the strap on the board. Crap! Not the time!

Before she can deploy the emergency parachute—how pathetic is it that she needs it because something as stupid as motion sickness?—an arm yanks her away, and the board comes completely undone, falling to its demise. She gasps a confounded "oof" before she realizes her feet are dangling over space, but that she's not actually tumbling to her doom. She looks up and recognizes all the red and black instantly.

"I might vomit on you," she doesn't hesitate to announce. He glances down at her, his human arm holding her close against his side to prevent her from slipping. She's not sure an air-board is meant for two people, but since he's a vampire, she's not too worried about what might happen.

"Change of plans," he utters into the new communication ear piece that Yuffie thinks makes him far too sexy to be legal, "Yuffie and I will rendezvous at my landing point."

She glances down, and her mind reels just like her stomach. They are still way too far from the ground, and this thing is _not_ steady. Panicked, she wraps both of her legs around Vincent's nearest one, pressing herself as close the center of the air-board as she can manage.

He looks at her again, a dim spark of bewilderment in his eyes. "You'll be fine." His rumbling voice is like an escape rope to her, safe and familiar.

Yuffie stills. Did she just go falling in love with him? Shit.

* * *

**A/N:** Abrupt, I know. Part of Yuffie's charm, I think. Updates will be slow-going, so I apologize. Thank you for reading. Comments and critique welcomed. Have a wonderful day!


	13. The Distraction

**Theft**

**The Distraction**

* * *

"You going to pick me a dandelion?" Yuffie teases him. Her tone indicates she expects him to, but would like to draw attention to it in order to embarrass him. Vincent glances at her tiredly.

"Pick your own damn flower," snaps Cid irritably, his footsteps crunching in front of them. He remains blissfully unaware that her inquiry was in no way directed at him.

Yuffie narrows her eyes at Vincent. They threaten things. He's learned to read her well enough, but predictability when it comes to Yuffie Kisaragi is an impossibility. If he doesn't pick her a dandelion, she will do something—like sit on his lap and expose their recent relationship to one of the biggest male blabbermouths on the planet. Or, perhaps, she _won't_ sit on his lap. He doesn't know which is worse. He knows that if he _does_ accede to her request, Cid will become suspicious anyway—but it won't necessarily mean he would _deduce_ the whole story. Cid would merely presume that Yuffie, the little thief, had gotten her hands on blackmail-worthy material, which, all told, wasn't too far from the truth.

So, at the price of his pride, he bends down, delicately snaps off a flower from the path and hands it to her. Her smile becomes deviously feral. Why, he deplores himself again, is he attracted to this insufferable larcenist?

"Thanks, Vinnie," she coos, pretending to sock him playfully. Her fingers trail coyly down the leathery buckles on his human arm. The sensation sends shivers down his spine in a way he hasn't been familiar with in decades.

Cid throws a grimace over his shoulder. "Hot damn! You did it for the brat? Don't be a pushover, Vincent!"

Vincent can only drop his eyes.

Yuffie grins smugly at Cid. "He's just being his silly, old vampire self!" she insists jauntily. The muscles around Vincent's eyes tightens. He feels like he's being put through torture.

"You're too good to this kid, Vincent," Cid coughs gruffly. It sends a pang of guilt through him.

Yuffie snorts inelegantly and then mouths to him behind Cid's back: "Next time, I'll ask for roses."

He doesn't know how he will last.

* * *

**A/N:** Sorry for the wait. I just loved toying with the idea of Yuffie being a tease, in her own adorably sinister way. Thank you for reading! Comments and critique welcomed. Have a splendid day!


	14. The Duplicate

**Theft**

**The Duplicate**

* * *

"You like blowing up, huh?" The edge in her voice and the set of her eyes caught his attention. Yuffie Kisaragi was known for throwing tantrums—she would even pull pranks out of pure, unadulterated spite. But, rarely, did Yuffie Kisaragi get angry—at _him_.

He thought carefully before answering. "I do not enjoy blowing up, Yuffie."

The spoon she had been using clattered into the plate of almond milk pudding, and she did it then—sent him a pitched glare, telling him exactly what she thought of his claim to not take pleasure in self-combustion. "You don't, huh?" Her words cut like a knife; she seldom used her tongue to inflict damage, when she could have easily defaulted to her shuriken. She was livid.

Vincent shifted out of discomfiture. The situation called for someone who could effectively placate her, someone like Tifa. Tifa was not in Gongaga, however. "Your anger seems unfounded—"

Yuffie just short of seized him by the collar and spat into his face. Her fists clenched by her side, and her eyes began to burn strangely. "'Unfounded'?" she echoed incredulously. "You know how many times now I've seen you take something that could've killed you?"

"Yuffie," he sighed, holding his exasperation, "I am immortal." She appeared to be referring to their earlier monster encounter, when he took a particularly lethal blow. It was an entirely logical reaction. He saw the monster's intent to assault her—and knowing Yuffie was very much mortal—he broke formation. She hadn't seemed to glean the monster's design in time, so Vincent assumed, it merely looked to her as if he'd been acting rather suicidal. Still, her fury was unreasonable.

She shook her head, bitterly, lips pressed thin. "It doesn't matter if you think you're freaking invincible, Vincent! It still hurts to look at! You don't think it's possible for people to die of fright?"

The strange blaze in her eyes, he discovered, came from barely checked tears. He felt increasingly distressed. She blinked furiously, her glare fixed upon him. "I don't like seeing people I care about get hurt like that, Vincent." The remaining words were left unsaid, but he heard it as clearly as if she had told him: You scared me. Yuffie gave him one last condescending look before brusquely returning to her pudding, walloping the innocent thing with a vicious fervor.

Finally, Vincent deigned to speak. "Nor do I," he murmured quietly. Yuffie's eyes flickered in his direction, the taut lines of her countenance softening at his words. Licking her spoon clean, she slid the plate over, and grudgingly asked: "Want some?"

* * *

**A/N:** Yuffie doesn't strike me as someone who would be angry for long. And have you guys tried almond milk pudding? It's delectable. I had an almond milk pudding phase a couple months back. Now, I'm over it. Thank you for reading! Comments and critique welcomed. Have a yummy day!


	15. The Ingression

**Theft**

**The Ingression**

* * *

Vincent stopped reading. He glanced up, noting the curious sound. Eyes narrowed, he seized Cerberus and silently got to his feet. The window shrieked open and he snapped around, cocking the gun with pinpoint accuracy at the felon—who merely looked annoyed and barked, "Put that thing away! It's just me!"

Vincent's grip went lax and he dropped the weapon on his table, but his scowl remained fixed. "Yuffie."

"Did you ever think about getting your windows replaced? Or greased or something?" Yuffie jumped inside, dusting off her shorts. "They're like howler monkeys."

"You are breaking into my home."

She glanced up at him. "I can't be breaking in. You let me in," she said with such assurance that, for one flickering moment, he almost believed her.

His eyes narrowed. "No, I did not."

She quirked her lips, watching for his next move expectantly. He did nothing but stand menacingly, which, she had to admit, would have had most people climb out the way they came. But he just looked _blazing_ hot to her. She shimmied past him and dropped into his red velvet chair, eyes grazing over the tome he'd been reading with little interest. "Can I stay here for a little bit?" She looked up hopefully, and Vincent's—she knew that look—eyebrows drew together, setting his lips thin. It was indecision bordering on concession. "Please, Vinnie? I need to keep a low profile for a little while. There's this parade festival thing in Wutai Godo wants me to attend, and well, I'd rather not."

"For a while," he conceded.

Jackpot. She plastered on a smile of relief. "Thanks, Vinnie. I owe you one!" She crept back to the window and hoisted up a duffel bag, making Vincent's eyes go wide in alarm.

"How long is this stay?" he demanded.

"One week, give or take," answered Yuffie breezily. Poor man looked like he was about commit seppuku.

* * *

**A/N:** Sorry. It's been a while. I have been intending to post this for over a week now, but due to some kind of glitch in my account, I haven't been able to access my _Theft_ story editing pages. Why, then, is this finally posted? Because of copy-and-pasting ingenuity. I still have yet to hear from support. I won't be able to update the story properties until they do. Also, once my spring break is over, there is a large chance that I will be not be updating until the end of the school year. I want to focus on my studies, research, and getting back into my former running shape. Please, bear with me. Comments and critique welcomed. Thank you for reading.


	16. The Switch

**Theft**

**The Switch**

* * *

Her lackluster greeting comes in the form of a large t-shirt and mismatched knee-length socks. Dark blotchy rings line the hollows of her eyes. The customary glow of youth has disappeared from her cheeks, leaving behind a ghastly pallor that rivals his own.

For a moment, she just gawks unattractively at him, eyes bleary and watery. Suddenly, her eyes snap into a narrow-eyed glower and her lips pull back into a clear snarl. "Are you coming inside or what? You're letting all the cold air in!" Her tiny body buckles involuntarily and she claps her hands to her forearms. She releases a shuddering sigh, and twists on her heel, shuffling back into her humble abode.

Vincent blinks once, momentarily stunned by the decidedly un-Yuffie-like apparition before him, before stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. She reappears at the end of the hallway, shuttling a large green blanket across her slumped shoulders. She glances tiredly at him, and after grimacing directly at him for what seems to be ages, fills an old kettle full of water and sets it on the stove.

He surveys the pigsty around him. Clothes, consisting mostly of assorted pairs of shorts and brightly-colored tank-tops, litter everything from the top of the television to handle of the dishwasher. The windows are shut, the blinds down, leaving the room musty and dark. Materia, he's shocked to find, lies carelessly all over her floor. A glimpse at the disposal reveals what appears to be a wayward Thunder materia buried beneath a mountain of used tissues. Her cats are nowhere to be seen, and it would not surprise him in the least if they had fled.

"You appear to be ill," he states.

She turns the knob on the stove and pours two cups of boiling water onto two helpless tea bags. "Sharp thinking there, Vince." The bite from her snide remark is weak. In fact, it holds no venom at all. She merely sounds exhausted. She picks up a cup and sips it, closing her eyes to welcome the warmth into her achingly cold insides. She peers at him over her steaming beverage. "Get it yourself, lazy coot." She jerks her head feebly toward the remaining cup of tea.

Vincent silently treads to the kitchen at her invitation. To his horror, he catches sight of several half-peeled potatoes rotting merrily in the sink. The smell from them is putrid. His ruby-red eyes flick to her rubbed-raw nose, and he deduces that she may have lost her olfactory senses several days prior to his visit. He picks up the cup, steps back from the kitchen, and nods politely at her. "Thank you."

"What are you doing here?" she demands, lips curled in discontent.

"Tifa and Cloud became unsettled after you failed to return their calls."

Yuffie clears her throat, aiming for imperious but landing pathetically on cute. "What are _you_ doing here?"

He angles his gaze. "I was closest when their concerns became known. I am merely passing by. Please give Tifa a call when you get the chance, Yuffie."

She stares at the untouched cup in his hand. His gaze also travels to the cup. An unexplained purple stain peers back at him from the bottom of the drink. He is sorely tempted to toss the dangerous thing out of the nearest window, but it seems awfully impolite to do so. He takes a delicate sip, and she visibly relaxes.

Her smile attempts its usual brightness, but fails miserably. "I'm fine, you know! Yuffie-brand cells of steel! Frankly, I'm surprised the germs weren't terrified by all the awesome I ooze." She wiped absently at the line of snot that had dribbled out of her left nostril. "Anyway, I should be back to normal before long. Thanks for dropping by, though, Vinnie."

Vincent eyes the festering squalor surrounding them. His intention of leaving her to meet a malodorous untimely demise swiftly dwindles to nil. "Yuffie, you should rest."

She drains the rest of her tea, dropping the cup onto the repulsive pile of decomposing carbohydrates in the sink and retreats down the hall. "Good idea. I'm tired. I'll call Tifa later. See ya, Vince." She straggles into her room, crumples onto her futon, piles half a dozen blankets on top of herself, and drops off without another word.

Vincent takes another contemplative sip from his tea before he considers the value of his life and dumps the rest of the beverage down the drain. He opens the cabinet, which seems a trite too high for someone of her stature. An unwrapped chocolate bunny tumbles out and breaks into a million pieces at his feet. The bright blue eye stares angrily up at him from the point of his shoe. Glancing inside, he finds several empty boxes of herbal vitamins, a spool of red thread, and an assortment of outdated Halloween candy, but no medicine. He sighs deeply, and instantly regrets it. He shoots the sink monstrosity a venomous look. The stench alone could have been the cause of her enfeebled condition.

* * *

Yuffie shifts fitfully, eyes creaking open. Her legs feel unusually light, and it takes her a moment to remember that her cats are, in fact, not curled like warm, purring weights on top of her blanket. Although she hates not waking up to a grainy lick or even a drawn-out mewing, it's ultimately the lack of familiar pressure she despises most. She's lonely, and, frowning, she realizes her stomach is, too.

She's starving, but there's no way in hell that she's going to voluntarily leave her room with anything less than five blankets—and that's far more trouble than it's worth. Dried drool chips off the side of her mouth and she ducks her face back under the comforter. She squirms, trying to get comfortable so she can fall back asleep when the darkness is suddenly yanked away. She screams.

Vincent glares at her. "Calm down."

Her screaming escalates into terrified screeching. What the hell! What the hell is this? Is she so far gone that she's—

"Yuffie, calm down," he repeats sternly, crimson eyes narrowing.

"Who the hell are you? What are you going to do with that? Am I dead? Holy _shit_!—am I dead?"

He seizes her by the shoulder. The physical contact shuts her mouth. "You are not dead."

She watches him suspiciously. "What is that?"

In no world, living or dead, is a vision of Vincent Valentine holding a pink porcelain bowl full of homemade soup considered sane.

"Food."

She tucks the blanket under her chin defiantly. "You poisoned it."

"Eat it. I am leaving to buy medicine. I will be back shortly." He leaves the bowl on the tatami beside her before rising to his feet.

She takes a disdainful sniff of the mushroom-colored goop in the bowl, surprising herself when it actually smells like something—something yummy. "Is there more?" she bleats, mood lifting.

He blinks at her, turns away, and murmurs tersely, "I will bring you another when you have finished."

She steals the bowl off the floor, cradles the warm porcelain in her hands before taking the spoon and delving in. Her stomach sings as the rich, creamy soup drops down her esophagus. She shovels bite after bite, meeting his curious gaze with an eager look. Vincent Valentine could cook—_well._ Crap. The world was ending, and she couldn't even bring herself to care. Vincent Valentine made a mean potato soup.

To his obvious distaste, she laps the last remnants off the bowl with her tongue before holding it up to him. "It's delicious, Vince. I can't _believe_ you've been holding out on us all this time." He takes the bowl from the bottom, where he's certain her contaminated saliva has not yet tainted, and pads quietly out of her room. She props herself against the wall, smoothing out the layers of blankets in front of her and draping a couple over her back. He returns with another heaven-sent helping of potato soup. Her eyes get damnably misty. "Vince, you're wonderful," she blubbers, clutching the bowl to her heart. "Can I keep you? Can we get married or something so you can cook for me every day? I'll even let you sleep on the sofa."

He stares uncertainly at her, before standing, the cloak flapping behind him. "I will be back with medication."

"No way, no way," she says around a mouthful of piping hot soup, "medicine's gross. Damages my mojo. I'll get better in no time." An almost imperceptible expression of disbelief graces his face before it disappears. He ignores her and sweeps out of her house, the door shutting with an audible click. She pinches in her cheeks rebelliously. "Can't make me eat it," she mutters. In two mournful minutes, she empties her bowl. Yuffie looks up, half-hoping to see Vincent return with another helping, but he's gone, and the warm swell in her gut wanes with a painful, little twist. With a sigh, she clasps the sheets around her and stumbles unsteadily to her feet. The floor saps the heat from her feet instantly. With as much speed as she can muster, she hurries to the kitchen. The spoon chimes merrily against the china as she bounds toward the large frothy pot of potato soup. How did he know she'd in been in the mood for potato soup? She quickly ladles it to the brim.

Yuffie freezes, craning her neck in slow-motion to gawk at the sink. It is spotless. She whirls around, and is struck dumb by the sheer immaculacy of her living room. Shining, polished materia line up neatly on her tabletop. Her clothes sit folded on the sofa. The blinds are retracted to allow the orange afternoon light in, and a slight breeze stirs the calligraphy paintings that decorate her wall. Did he take the trash out?

She is still holding her third bowl of soup, eyes bulging visibly from their sockets and jaw slack, when he returns with a paper bag. He regards her warily. "Yuffie?"

"Did you take the trash out?"

"Yes," he responds without further ceremony, "it was filthy."

She meets his eyes then. "Seriously, can we get married?"

A crease between his eyebrows appears. "You were living in a Petri dish, Yuffie."

She takes a scalding slurp of her soup, her eyes never living his. "This is amazing. I should get sick more often."

He tosses her the paper bag. Yuffie catches it with her left hand, pulls it open, and frowns into it. She tosses it back to him. "It's medicine," he says.

"I told you I wasn't having any. Stuff tastes like donkey foot."

"Your method of healing hasn't been doing you much good, Yuffie. Medicine will end this nuisance quickly."

"No way."

"Don't be stubborn."

"Look, Vince, I like your soup and we can even get married 'cause you're so sexy, but if you think I'm going to drink that foul, miasmic _thing_, you've got another thing coming."

"Yuffie." His tone warns. Naturally, she ignores it.

She blinks furiously, nose scrunching. After a beat of pause, she releases an almighty sneeze. She yanks a napkin from the countertop and blows generously into it. Nose pink from the effort, she discards the soiled tissue into the trash bin. "Probably shot all the buggers out in one go," she remarks brightly. "All better!" She takes another greedy gulp from the bowl.

"Yuffie."

When it becomes clear that he will continue to abuse the use of her name, she pouts bitterly at him. "Fine! I'll take one dose, but only because you organized my materia." She stomps up to him, puffing herself to full height, which isn't much compared to his, and snatches the paper bag. She stiffly uncorks the bottle, braces herself, and takes a swig. Her eyes screw shut. She smothers a cough, visibly struggling to swallow the detestable fluid. An eye cracks open. She shakes her head—

Suddenly, purple liquid erupts from her lips and hits Vincent right in the face.

Vincent glares at her from behind drug-drenched eyelashes.

* * *

**A/N:** So, this only began as a humorous snap-shot of Yuffie in an over-sized t-shirt and her trademark socks, holding back a dam of snot. But, hands as incapable as mine, well, here you go. Thank you for reading. Have a contagion-free day.


	17. The Play

**Theft**

**The Play**

* * *

"DAMN!" screeches Cid, nearly ripping another clump of hair out of his head. The chair clatters to the floor behind him and he paces in a tight, restless circle, as if looking for something to punch, before he spots the look on Tifa's face and huffily leaves the room for a smoke.

Yuffie snickers. "Don't be a sore loser, old man!"

"That is the fourth hand that you have won," observes Vincent as she paws her winnings toward her like a maniacal leprechaun.

"Beginner's luck," boasts Yuffie as she toys with a chip, plying it back and forth between her capable fingers.

"There is no such thing as beginner's luck," responds Shelke mechanically before Barret interrupts with a snort.

"I'll be damned if this really _is_ your first time playing poker," he remarks snidely.

Yuffie leans across the table, tumbling one of her many tall spires of chips into his territory, and grins. "Oh, but it _is_." She clucks her tongue at the sudden, careless mess she's made and makes a show of sweeping it back up, stacking each chip with perfect, guileless care.

"That's a bunch of crap," snaps Cid as he stalks back into the room, smelling like bitter nicotine. Cid catches the warning glance of Tifa, who is counting the day's profits behind the counter, and swallows the rest of rant. With a bit of ginger handling, he rights the chair and sits back down.

"Ready for another round?" pipes Yuffie cheerfully. Cid shoots her a poisonous look, but says nothing. Shelke, seeing that no one else has any other objections, begins dealing. There is a strained silence as they all consider their hands. Cid's fingers drum restlessly against the table, meaning his hand could be a winner or loser depending on how he played. Barret places his cards down and scratches the back of his neck. He clearly has a terrible hand. Shelke leans slightly to the right. She probably has a promising set of cards. With body language that loud, Yuffie doesn't need to cheat in order to win. Yuffie's eyes glance fleetingly at the impenetrable gunman's face, but, as predicted, it gives nothing away. No matter, her hand was a sure-fire winner.

Cid starts the betting at a modest rate. Vincent raises. Barret folds. She raises, earning a contemplative look from Vincent. Shelke meets the bet. It's all going as Yuffie imagined.

"I'm bettin' on you, Vincent," issues Cid gruffly after he withdraws from the round.

It has narrowed down to Yuffie and Vincent. Yuffie stares playfully into Vincent's scarlet eyes and she plays with another chip. "You're mighty confident this round, Vince."

"As are you."

"But I'm on a roll," she says as she pushes in several stacks of chips into the pot. Barret whistles and slaps his knee.

Shelke just short of gapes at the high-stakes display. "Is that a good idea?" Yuffie's lips curl like a cat's. The way Vincent watches her move is exciting. She can never get him to train his eyes on her this thoroughly through the usual channels. She decides this poker night needs to happen a lot more often now.

"All in," murmurs Vincent as he pushes all his chips into the already-large pile in the center of the table. Barret's eyes bug out of the sockets. Cid sucks in a breath and begins muttering something that sounds suspiciously like, "Holy shit, what the f—" Tifa leaves her post behind the counter and actually begins to hover next to Yuffie, a half-washed glass dripping water in her hand. Though not much of a gambler, it's clear that even Tifa is intrigued by the showdown.

Yuffie's finger traces slowly across the top of her cards as she eyeballs Vincent. "Okay, I'll bite," she pushes the entirety of her fortune into the center, "since I'm going to win, anyway."

"You are bluffing, Yuffie," says Vincent coolly. Yuffie tenses marginally, but not enough for anyone besides Tifa to notice.

"Actually, I think you're bluffing, Vince," she replies airily. "It's not like I have a tell."

Vincent's gaze travels away from the chips and to her. "It's in your eyes."

The words send a pleasant thrill through her system. Yuffie grins. Poker is such a sexy game. "You can stare at them all you want, Vinnie," she leans across the table and deliberately bats her eyelashes at him, but he remains unmoved, "but that's not going to get you a winning hand."

The cards fall.

Cid swears. Barret groans. Tifa takes a step back. "The odds of getting anything higher than a straight flush are extremely improbable," acknowledges Shelke, glancing expectantly at Vincent. Vincent sighs and stands up. Yuffie begins to grin. She wishes this were a game of strip poker so _badly._

"Royal flush," he says and everyone gapes at the flawless hand on the table.

"What the hell!" Yuffie splutters, brown eyes going wide as melons. "That's impossible!"

"Just improbable, actually," corrects Shelke. "Extremely improbable."

Cid whoops and claps Vincent on the back. "That's my man!" he shouts giddily for the next full two minutes.

Tifa squeezes Yuffie's shoulder reassuringly. "It's okay. Vincent won't take all of your materia."

The door swings open and Cloud walks in, his visage full of exhaustion from a full day of deliveries. Hearing the commotion, he quickly strides over, boots heavy against the floorboards. "What's going on?" he murmurs next to Tifa.

"Yuffie just lost a game of poker."

"No beginner's luck, huh?" he says, sounding a little sympathetic.

"VINNIE, YOU CHEATED!" roared Yuffie, launching herself unceremoniously at the gunman. Cloud snatches her by the waist before she can clear the table. Tifa steps between them and forces Yuffie's thrashing arms down by her sides, trying to talk some calm into the slighted ninja. Yuffie resists, clearly looking upset. Tifa manages to keep her from lashing out, and walks her over to the back room of the bar, murmuring something as the features of Yuffie's face get alarmingly watery.

"What's wrong, Yuffie?" asks Tifa softly as she shuts the door behind them.

"He cheated, I know he did!" garbles Yuffie, eyes and cheeks reddening.

"You have no proof of that," Tifa reasons.

Yuffie glares hard at the floor. "Of course I do. He's an ex-Turk, and they always cheat at cards! There is _no way_ he could have beaten my hand clean."

"And why not?"

"Because _I_ was playing dirty," explains Yuffie, pulling a trump card out of a sleeve of her elbow-length fingerless glove.

"Oh!" Tifa automatically gives her a disproving look. "Yuffie!" Yuffie swipes at her eyes angrily, the card wobbling in her clenched fingers. Tifa's voice lowers. "Oh, Yuffie, what's wrong?"

"I had trump card. I was set to win," Yuffie stares at the door balefully, "and he still beat me! You know what that makes me? A goner!"

Tifa blinks in surprise. "Excuse me?"

Yuffie flings her arms around Tifa and buries her face into the black fabric. "I'm a goner, Teef," she whispers.

Tifa wraps her arms around the girl and strokes her hair soothingly. "You can win it all back, Yuffie." Tifa stops herself before another word can make it out of her mouth, expression freezing as the words dawn on her. "_Oh_." Tifa shakes her head, a smile of empathy curling on her lips.

Yuffie Kisaragi, the queen of swindling, had just been out-swindled. She was more than a goner. She was head over heels.

* * *

**A/N:** Fresh out of the oven, this time. Had to post it before I changed my mind. Because different people are suckers for different things.

I cannot begin to tell you how much I appreciate the reviews, favorites, and alerts, every single time. It's such a positive incentive to keep chugging along. Thank you for reading. Comments are welcome, and critique is encouraged. Have a spiffy day.


	18. The Call

**Theft**

**The Call **

* * *

Yuffie enjoys the art of committing larceny almost as much as she enjoys the art of steady breathing in cramped spaces. Vincent knows this well, having been a constant victim to her materia-thieving extremities. So, when he receives his new phone, he takes extra caution to keep it safe from her sticky fingers.

He sits on the bed, idly watching over the city, when he hears a strange buzzing. Turning his head, he catches sight of his phone vibrating against the oak table. He goes over to it, curious as to why Cloud, Reeve, or Barret would require his assistance. He's only given out his number to a precious few. He flips open the phone, and pauses to read the name on the screen.

_Conqueror of Evil calling…_

He draws his eyebrows in confusion.

"Heelloooo?" sings a voice out of the phone before he is allowed to consider it further. He brings the device gingerly to his ear. His first call, and it's already been defiled by her impossibly cheerful voice. "Vince, I know you're there! Quit acting like a zombie and talk to me!"

Vincent takes a moment to ponder when she got a hold of his phone, took his number, and left hers. It is unsettling because he does not recall lowering his guard, and most certainly not around a thief of her caliber. Seeing the circumstances, however, he may have underestimated her. "Yuffie," he deadpans, "how did you get this number?"

"I dunnnnooo," she responds in a voice bursting with laughter. "I bet I'm your first caller, huh? I just wanted to congratulate you on getting a new phone! Welcome to the new age, you old fart!"

"Thank you," he replies, though it is not for the "old fart" comment.

"Okay, that's it! Bye, Vince!" There is a click, and he looks at the screen to see that the call has ended. He refrains from sighing wearily.

It takes him several minutes to figure out how to change contact information, namely how to change "Conqueror of Evil" to "Yuffie Kisaragi." But it only takes him several seconds to decide he will have to ask her to stop calling his phone. Yuffie may not be an upholder of traditions, but Vincent has the foresight to see that this could quickly become one.

* * *

**A/N:** I apologize. It's been a while, and this piece is decent at best, horrific at worst. And brief, to top it all off. Have I mentioned how much I adore Yuffie? She's impossibly peachy. Thank you for reading. Comments are welcome, and critique is encouraged. Have a dapper day.


	19. The Difference

**Theft**

**The Difference**

* * *

Cold green eyes consume him. They're her eyes, but remorseless like his father's. Sephiroth smiles, arrogant, dangerous. As he speaks, he draws his sword. The sound of it leaving its sheath renders his words unintelligible. Vincent's hand instinctively goes for Cerberus. He does not find it. A part of him realizes he does not want to shoot, not her son. When Sephiroth tries to speak again, a woman materializes by his side. "He's my son," she says to Vincent, proud and beautiful, like he remembers. Her shadow quivers behind her, rips away and becomes independent. The grin—that horrifying, manic grin—forms first. Hojo.

He's alone. Hojo stands over him, cackling, his bloodstained gloves shaking along with him. Vincent knows. It's his. His blood. Vincent struggles against the metal clamps that keep him fixed to the operating table. He fruitlessly writhes against the mental strap along his skull. "Stop," pleads Vincent. He knows how this ends. Hojo runs his finger curiously down the serrated edge of long knife. "Stop, please stop." He can feel the desperation in his voice rising. Hojo brings it down into his abdomen, and Vincent's semblance of control breaks to pieces. Arcs of red make his vision swim. He screams and screams and screams, hoping someone will stop this madman, will save him, will just kill him because it _hurts_.

After what feels like eons, the pain relents and recedes to an insistent throbbing. Vincent finds it incredibly difficult to even remember to breathe. A hand—familiar, small and quick—touches him on the forehead. His eyes burst open, blazing red with some unknown relief. But no one is with him. He cannot see, and he struggles to remember those hands. Tiny, scarred hands that take without touching; hands that do not smile, but grin. But in moments, the feeling is gone and he cannot remember. A figure appears at the end of the dense, black void.

It's her. Lucretia gazes silently at him, eyes full of grief and pity. He tries to recall her smile, her lovely radiant smile. It escapes him. He thinks he'd rather see her grin, but somehow knows she never does. "I'm so sorry," she whispers.

_No,_ Vincent wants to say, _no, don't be._ He reaches for her, but the space between them is so black and deep that he feels he could never touch her. "I love you." His voice falters, croaks, with regret. "Please. I love you."

"Don't," tears pool in her palms; she stares at him, frightened, "Vincent, don't."

A mad cackling rings through his consciousness. His knees buckle involuntarily. Pain goes searing through his veins, igniting every agonizing memory like bursts of fire. He forces his eyes open. He wants to see her before she goes. She always does.

"Come, dear, you don't want to see this. It's monstrous," claims the voice of Hojo from somewhere in the void, sparkling with amusement.

Through pain-streaked eyes, Vincent watches Lucretia turn away. "I'm so sorry." Vincent's hand reaches again, trying to tether her to him, to prevent her from leaving him. To his horror, it is mangled beyond recognition—a beast's hand. Hojo simpers, holding the door open for her. She passes through it without giving him another look. The door closes quietly behind them.

"No," he groans, clutching his head as if it would burst from the sheer agony of trying to hold it together. "Don't do this to me."

Hojo laughs. "Is your love always this one-sided?"

A violent shudder rocks the emptiness. A strong grip shakes him, trying to rouse him from the oppressive black of his own nightmare. He jerks awake to a vision of Yuffie in a sleeping bag next to him. Her arms poke awkwardly out of her the chocobo-patterned bag. Her hands are small, and quickly retreat back into the warm safety of her sleeping bag. A thread of familiarity eats at him, but he blinks, and it disappears. Her eyes are squinted, red, from lack of sleep. For a second, he sees concern; worry on her brow, but it vanishes like a trick of the light. She glares at him, a grimace writ upon her face like it's been carved there by Conformer. She is clearly irritated, though he knows not why. The expression is a relief to him. The tent is empty save for the two of them. He realizes Nanaki must be on night patrol.

"Yuffie," he says, just to try the name on his tongue. Just to say something—anything—that will not be mocked or spurned or hated.

The word seems to engage her fury, but it is a welcome, childish fury that he does not mind. "Look, Vinnie, I know you have the hots for me and all—I mean, who _doesn't_?—but could you just shut up?" It is not a question; she bulldozes on in a self-righteous anger, hushed because it is night, but not quiet because she is Yuffie; it is as if she deserves, above all else, to sleep uninterrupted by his fitfulness. "You say 'I love you' like I'm ripping your innards out. Not flattering, let me tell ya. If you're going to say it, say it right." A pause as she pins him with her stormy gaze. "So shut up and let me sleep." Her anger is mild, harmless, borne out of being driven awake and nothing more. Grumbling, she turns over and, with a degree of tossing and turning, stills. Half-asleep, she mutters, "Like this, dummy. I love you." The words are soft, affectionate, yet intense. He marvels that she, so young, can muster such strength for a mere demonstration of her point. He tucks his head deeper into the folds of his crimson mantle. He recalls the tormented confession of his dreams.

"_Like this, dummy. I love you."_

He can hear the difference.

Vincent watches the flap of her bag resume a steady rhythm. He does not turn away, for he would rather keep watch over her than go willingly back to his nightmares.

* * *

**A/N: **Sorry it's a little rough around the edges. I'm not at the top of my game right now. Hopefully, I'll feel a bit better by the weekend. On a different note, the network name under which I am currently accessing this internet connection is called "Hojo." I kid you not. Comments are welcome; critique is encouraged. Thank you for reading.


	20. The Scene

**Theft**

**The Scene**

* * *

Yuffie grimaced. She normally didn't mind being late for work at WRO headquarters, but clearly, other people did. She found a memo slip tacked to her desk upon arrival. Still munching on her chocolate banana, she plucked it off the desk and scanned it disinterestedly, expecting to see Reeve's irritated scrawl about tardiness or shooting spitballs or the like. She was Head of Intelligence, for goodness' sake. She knew the protocol like the inside of Vincent's highly pilfer-friendly pockets, but that didn't mean she was going to follow any gruffly-issued orders. Her eyebrows rose and she extracted the iced treat from her mouth with a pop. It read: "About time for a haircut?" It was typed, making its writer untraceable. Frowning, Yuffie flipped over the strange memo, but there was nothing else.

Yuffie snorted, dumping the mystery memo into the recycle bin. Like hell she was going to get a haircut now.

"Morning, Vince! What's going on in the bat cave?" she announced, barging into his office down the hall from hers, and just in time to interrupt what appeared to be a very important phone call. His eyes flicked up to meet hers briefly before returning to the stack of paperwork on his desk. _Not now_ was the message, but Yuffie, as she did with all other messages, ignored it and plopped into the chair opposite his, grinning broadly while he took his call.

A knot of vexation appeared between his smooth brows. "Yes, the infractions appear to follow a pattern," he intoned. "A moment, please." He clasped his hand around the receiver and looked pointedly over at Yuffie.

"Oh, no, don't mind little, old me! Carry on!" she told him cheerfully. She needed her morning eyeful of Vincent Valentine, anyway. His talking on the phone was just about as sexy as his brooding next to a window.

"Yuffie, I do not have time for this. Is this an urgent matter?"

"No."

"This conversation is confidential."

"I'm the Head of Intelligence," she _never_ tired of using that trump card, "there isn't a single conversation I don't have clearance access to."

"Yuffie, don't you have matters of your own to attend to?"

"I am attending to them," she rebutted.

Vincent, seeing that this attempt at ousting her was ultimately useless, returned to his call after shooting her an impatient scowl. "I will send you a report. The companies in question seem to be linked, after all." He nodded and hung up.

Yuffie stood up and jabbed her finger, indicating to the hall behind her. "Someone brought cookies. Thought you might want to know. You know," she winked, "since you're such a sucker for them."

Vincent stared at her blankly. Mission completed, she pranced back to her office to listen in on some other very important phone calls.

* * *

**A/N:** Dusting off this piece as an offering of sorts. Been a bit preoccupied. I have so many jumbled ideas stored on my computer concerning these two, but I hardly have the time to get to them these days. I suppose this could stand alone, but if I were being frank, this can also be taken as a "deleted scene" from my other Yuffentine project: _Meet Mr. and Mrs. Con_, which is why you'll find a couple of references. Just a wee bit, though. Hopefully nothing too off-putting. I'm rambling now. Comments welcome. Thank you for reading.


	21. The Concession

**Theft**

**The Concession**

* * *

Sharing a tent with Cid was onerous. He reeked of nicotine, cursed in his sleep, and had a terrible habit of jutting his elbows into his neighbor's side, his neighbor being Vincent Valentine. As they all finished up supper, Vincent was unable to refrain from casting a weary glance in Cid's direction. Cid sat across the bonfire, in one hand the remains of his dinner, and in the other a half-spent cigarette. Yuffie suddenly plopped down beside him, grinning. Vincent was not familiar with Yuffie's grins; he, therefore, assumed they were all of the sinister variety. She made a flippant remark that was lost to Vincent's ears beneath the crackle of the fire. Cid muttered a gruff reply, stamping out his cigarette beneath his boot. Vincent stood, but stopped short of walking into the tent when Yuffie leaned precariously over into Cid's ear, then pointed subtly—but not subtly enough—in Vincent's direction.

Perplexed, Vincent halted where he stood, eyes narrowing. As far as he knew, the self-proclaimed Great Ninja Yuffie had a penchant for juvenile devilry and tended to express her affections accordingly. Having joined the group not very along ago, and bearing so foreboding a manner, he had been able to thwart her irrational attempts at soliciting his rapport, and had, as a consequence, been able to elude her childish pranks.

Cid nodded, but his next words were lost in the distance. Vincent remained rooted to the spot, determined to prevent, or at the very least foil, whatever the impish adolescent had in mind. Yuffie brightened at his response, bouncing out of her seat and slapping Cid, in what perhaps was a jovial manner, across the back. He swore loudly enough to reach Vincent's much-abused ears. Yuffie trounced away with a peal of laughter, disappearing into the tent she shared with both Tifa and Barret. Having deduced nothing from the exchange, Vincent returned to his tent. He found Red already curled trimly at the other end. Vincent took the other end and prepared himself for another long-suffering, sleepless evening.

The flap of the tent snapped open behind him. "Hiya, Vince!" Vincent felt himself flinch. He wasn't sure where she had begotten atrocious moniker.

Vincent turned his gaze to the diminutive newcomer, whose gaze came in a cheerful brown twinkle. "Yuffie."

"What're you just sitting there for? Move over!" she exclaimed, tossing her bag over her head without warning. It connected with the bottom of the tent with a rattling thud.

Vincent did not stare, but he did regard her with a measure of confusion. "Cid will be here any moment." Red peeled open his eye at the commotion, watching Yuffie with bemusement.

"No, he won't!" piped Yuffie as she kicked open her sleeping bag. "We switched spots! Lucky you!"

Red tucked his paws beneath him and raised his head. "What brought about this change, little thief?"

Yuffie poked a finger into Vincent's side, eliciting a dangerous look from the humorless gunman which she gleefully ignored. "More leg room, of course!" Vincent took up about as much space as her humble home collection of bamboo _bo_ staffs, and she really couldn't handle being stuck between Tifa's enormous boobs and Barret's hand-gun for another night. She jammed her legs into the chocobo-patterned sleeping bag and flopped down with bright smile in Vincent's direction. He felt the tension in his muscles ease at the unexpected gesture. "You don't mind, right?"

Red chuckled. Yuffie turned her head to smile at him, too. She liked Red. He reminded her of the oversized, semi-dangerous pet she was never allowed to have back in Wutai—but with the added plus of possessing a sense of humor. "You certainly smell better."

Yuffie broke into a grin. "I do, huh?" She snuggled deeper into her sleeping bag. "But between you and me, I bet _anyone_ smells better than that old fart!" Yuffie caught Vincent's eye, and without missing a beat, said, "You're wondering how I convinced him, right? I didn't really have to! All it took was your death glare, Vince! Remember how you were looking straight at us? Cid totally bought my story about how you were planning to shoot him in the foot tonight for all those nights you had to put up with his cigarette stink!" Vincent's lips dipped into a frown. "Oh, don't give me that! I know you were thinking it! Saw it on your face last night, too."

Vincent regarded her steadily. "You planned this."

"Sure did!" she replied smugly. "Never underestimate the Great Ninja Yuffie!" She abruptly broke into a yawn, much to Vincent's relief. Her loquaciousness often tired him. "It's like trading in the keys to a dumpy closet for a five-star hotel," she sighed contentedly, stretching her arms out and subsequently striking him in the face with one. She patted Red with her other hand. "'Night, you two."

She drew the flap of her sleeping bag up to her nose and shut her eyes, smoothing away the laugh lines on her expressive, young face. Red exchanged glances with Vincent over her mercifully silent form.

* * *

Sharing a tent with Yuffie was onerous. She mindlessly flung her limbs every which way with utter disregard for personal space, had a tendency to drool on his mantle, and occasionally mistook his arm for a pillow of some sort by snuggling her face right up against it. It took nearly all of his self-control to keep from instinctively reaching for his gun every time he was jolted away by an unfamiliar touch.

Vincent awoke for the fifth night in a row to the sensation of something moist seeping through the collar of his cloak and the distinct rhythmic fan of breath against his arm. His fingers flexed, but did not pull the weapon from his holster. With a soft grunt, he dislodged her hold on his arm and shifted her drool-laden face away from his own. Yuffie mumbled something incoherently and turned over. Sometimes, it was almost enough to make him request that Yuffie and Cid switch back.

But she was right about one thing. She certainly _did_ smell better.

* * *

**A/N: **I am admittedly a little rusty in the writing department. It's been a tough few weeks, so I really took advantage of this weekend to unwind with my other hobbies. This was just an exercise at first to force something out, but it ended up turning out okay enough to post. Think it might be my first foray into pre-Meteor Yuffentine, although it can definitely can be perceived as platonic. I seriously love the idea of Vincent, Yuffie, and Nanaki sharing a tent together.

Any feedback is greatly appreciated. Thank you for reading!


	22. The Courtesy

**Theft**

**The Courtesy**

* * *

A knock sounds on his door. Vincent's eyes lift briefly from the page, before shooting down. The knock persists, thwacking rebelliously against his eardrums, as if daring him to try reading another line of his book.

Vincent rises begrudgingly from his seat. He peers through peephole, grimacing as his suspicions are confirmed. It's Yuffie, the insufferable thief. Through the pinprick of glass, her childish appearance is magnified into a comically round shape, her doe-like eyes engulfing half of her face. She knocks again, her tiny—but formidable—fist colliding against the door enough to nearly take his eye out.

Vincent's absolutely certain that she will continue to pester him until he opens the door. Still, he is uncertain of whether opening the door is the best course of action. He is considering the alternatives when Yuffie squats next to the doorknob, producing a lock-picking apparatus from one of the pockets on her bright yellow utility belt.

Vincent represses a sigh of annoyance and opens the door. Yuffie shoots up from her crouch immediately, and the lock-pick disappears from view like a puff of smoke. Her expression brightens upon seeing him, in a way Vincent is not yet quite used to seeing. "Hiya, Vince!"

His eyebrows draw together. He will make this quick, clear, and concise. "No," he says. Before he can swing the door closed again, her foot catches it.

"Wait! You didn't even hear me out yet!" she protests, duffel bags swinging from both hands.

"I can deduce that you are imposing your presence at my current residence due to some recent off-limits-topic altercation you had with your father. The answer is no, Yuffie."

She splutters for a moment, but when she sees him make for the doorknob, she doesn't bother with civility and jams herself through the doorway. "I did _not_ walk all the way to your backwater hole just to get—"

"You did not walk all the way here," he replies contradictorily. Yuffie stares at him, eyes squinted stubbornly against comprehension. "The feathers," he elaborates.

Her eyebrows lift in understanding. Yuffie hastily beats the tell-tale chocobo feathers off her butt with one hand.

"Now, please remove yourself from my doorway."

Yuffie thrusts her chest out in defiance. "No, Vinnie," she replies curtly in a volume that borders on a bellow, "you should remove your _door_ from my _boobs._"

Vincent's hand rests threateningly on the doorknob. He could simply take her by the shoulder, turn her out, shut the door, and be done with it. But he doesn't.

Vincent knows courtesy when it sees it. That Yuffie's bothering with it is an anomaly in itself. With a silent sigh, he lets her in.

After all, if he doesn't, she will only end up jimmying open his windows again.

* * *

**A/N:** I would pay good money to see a romantic comedy movie revolving around these two, because they would just be so wrong and right for each other. And the things they would do. My poor shipper heart. I promise I'm still working on all three Yuffentine projects (yes, even _Meet Mr. and Mrs. Con_). Thank you for being so patient with me.

Thank you for reading! Feedback is, as always, greatly appreciated.


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